“Gah!” He dropped his head back as if imploring help from the angels—or the aliens. “That’s not what I meant. Damn it, Hannah, why are you fighting me so hard on this? I thought you were on my side.”
A surge of irritation propelled her out of her chair to pace the tiny dining room. “Okay, you’re right. Mea freakin’ culpa. I’m sentimental. I’m nostalgic. I wish people weren’t so quick to throw away the best parts of the past like chewed-up gum.”
He rose and grabbed her from behind, wrapping her in his strong arms and holding her tight against his chest. “Hannah,” he murmured into her ear as he rocked her gently, “I’m in love with you. And for your sake, I’ll continue to offer a small selection of alien crap, even though I hate those little green bastards with every atom in my body.”
She rotated into his embrace and pressed her forehead to his, hoping to get through that thick skull of his. “Why, Xander? What’s so bad about them?”
“Because Gus might still be alive if he’d pulled his head out of the stars and paid more attention to reality.” Eyes ablaze, he gripped her shoulders tightly. “But hey, who needs doctors if your buddies from Planet Xormak are on their way to pick you up?” He stabbed a finger toward the street below. “Everyone in this town saw he was spiraling, but they laughed it off. ‘Oh, that’s just Gus.’”
The air whooshed out of her lungs. Xander was right. In truth, the sweet old guy had tipped over into full-blown delusion, and the whole town enabled his illness.
Xander gentled his voice and slumped against the kitchen counter. “I loved Gus, but in the last years of his life, the man was unhinged. And if I make my new business all about aliens, people will think I am too.”
“Hey now.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “Why are you so hung up on what other people think?”
Xander’s eyes bugged out as if she’d asked him why he needed to breathe.
“Because my future depends on what other people think! A business needs customers. A newspaper needs readers. If we get a reputation as nut jobs, we lose our livelihood, Hannah. Don’t you see that?”
Defensive anger rose hot in her throat, especially because his words held a kernel of truth, damn it. She clawed her fingers into her hair and fought for control. “Like I said before, Xander, it’s your business. So, what will you sell to these so-called ‘normal’ people?” She couldn’t resist adding snarky air quotes.
He threw his hands wide. “Normal things! Vinegar and oil. Home décor. Nice clothing, a hundred percent alien-free. Wine and small plates. Classy stuff. Upscale. Trendy.”
And here they went again, round and round. “You don’t understand Trappers Cove at all, if you think you’re going to draw customers with that kind of bougie, pretentious crap.”
He poked her hard in the sternum, right over her aching heart. “And you think plastic aliens are gonna keep time from moving forward, Hannah? ‘Cause let me drop a truth bomb on you—they won’t. Change is coming to Trappers Cove, and you can’t stop it.”
Seething, she bit back a scathing comeback. She had to make him see what a huge mistake he was making, but arguing further now could destroy their fragile bond.
She marched to the sofa and plopped down with a huff. Unable to bear this emotional turmoil for one more minute, she needed to escape into action.
She flipped open her laptop. “Okay, Xander. You’ll do what you have to do. And because I care about youandthis town, past and future, I’ll do what I can to support your new project.” She speared him with a final glare. “And don’t try to stop me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Somuchforthepower of longhand doodling to unlock hidden wisdom. How was it possible to fill so many pages and still come up blank?
With a frustrated grunt, Hannah chucked her completely full journal onto the coffee table and rubbed her bleary eyes.
Xander’s idea about a cluster of mini shops was a good one, but not if he used those buildings to sell the same old boring, basic crap on offer up and down the coast. Trappers Cove attracted people who wanted something different, and if she couldn’t make him see that, he was going to fail—and lose all the time and money he’d invested in his ill-conceived scheme.
And then he’d leave.
Or worse, he’d succeed, drawing visitors who craved a swankier beach vacation experience, and one by one, every business that made TC the quirky, funky town she loved would fall to gentrification.
“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!” Rising, she paced to the window and back. She’d been doing a lot of that lately—pacing while she puzzled out what to do about theBeacon, about Mom, about Xander. Fat lot of good it’d done her—she was still as gnarled up as ever.
Zora’s voice echoed in her memory. “When we indulge in rumination, we risk anxiety, overwhelm, even paralysis.”
That decided it. She snatched up her jacket, shoved her feet into her boots, and headed out, stopping on the landing to poke her head into Mom’s apartment.
“I’m going out for a few hours. Can I bring you anything?”
Mom’s sleep-roughened voice drifted through her bedroom door. “What time is it?”
“Almost five.”
“Dang it, I’m too young to be napping the day away. Bring me something from Garrett’s?”
